While Your Senses Are Reeling
by whathobertie
Summary: To some extent his dream was her and this dream was just shattering into all its ugly components right in front of his feet. (Post 'In the Red' fic) Cal/Gillian, drama/angst.
1. Touch

**TITLE:** While Your Senses Are Reeling**  
GENRE:** Drama/angst**  
CHARACTERS:** Cal, Gillian (Emily, Ria, Zoe)**  
PAIRING:** Cal/Gillian**  
RATING:** R**  
SPOILERS:** None**  
WORDS:** 9,900**  
SUMMARY:** To some extent his dream was her and this dream was just shattering into all its ugly components right in front of his feet. (Post _'In the Red'_ fic)  
**A/N: **This story is a translation of one of my older German fics (sorry to everybody who has already read it!). After some requests and very nice feedback from Blacky Kitten and other lovely reviewers I decided to give this a go and share it with a wider audience. Hope somebody out there enjoys it!

* * *

**i. Touch**

_He_ remembered her laughter from earlier this evening and it should have been one of those moments. One of those very special moments that he was somehow hoping for less and less frequently and yet felt more and more often. Moments capturing him, not letting go, pursuing him wherever he went.

In the end, this wasn't one of those moments because the circumstances didn't fit and perhaps he even took a little pride in that.

_She_ remembered his sharp-edged, biting words from earlier this afternoon and it should have been one of those moments. One of those particularly painful moments that drove her absolutely mad and yet ended without any real consequences. Moments in which she should have grabbed her things, stormed out of the door, never looking back.

In the end, this wasn't one of those moments because her loyalty had won over once again and she took absolutely no pride in that.

With those thoughts in mind they both met around midnight, barely visible in the dimly lit corridors of the Lightman Group. Their steps slowed down until they stopped right in front of each other, just a few yards apart, ready to take up their duel of wills.

"Your date with Wallowski over already?" she asked, supposedly nonchalant, but she knew that he would hear the subtleness behind her words. She hoped for it, because she wanted him to know about her hurt feelings. At this time of night there was no hiding, not even here in the half-light.

"I can be quick if I want to," he replied with a shrug and let her make of his words whatever she wanted. No need for explanations.

She didn't waste her breath and remained silent, so maybe the first point in this game was his.

"And you?" he inquired in return, not being able to let go the alleged betrayal. "Cleared out my safe with the last cash reserves, so you can take it somewhere where I can't do any damage?" He pointed to her purse as if she was hiding his most holy crown jewels in there.

For a moment she considered just leaving him in the darkness—wordlessly, callously—but it would have taken her last remaining bit of self-respect. So instead she went right at him until she could see her silent rage reflecting in his unrelenting eyes. She was so close that they were both breathing the same air. He didn't back off, because all of this was far too exciting and apart from that he had a point of view to defend.

No, he didn't back off. Not until her hand marked his cheek with a none too hesitant slap. "Why don't you take care of your own crap?" she hissed as he looked at her confused, trying to classify the pain.

The point was definitely hers this time.

Time went on and on and in the end she had already started passing him by, walking towards the exit. But at some point he snapped out of his rigor and followed her with his gaze at least. "It was only a joke, Foster," he tried to tell himself, but if even he wasn't able to buy this lie, then she wouldn't anyway.

"Oh really?" she replied and didn't turn around, because it was time to put one of those moments she had always fantasized about into practice. "Reasonably funny, Cal."

He followed her with a few shaky steps, but he knew that he couldn't catch up with her or it would only make things worse. And yet he couldn't just let her leave like that either. "Hey, you can't just slap me and then run away like this." The words sounded harsher than he meant them to sound.

She stopped and hesitated. Every step back meant a small defeat and she didn't want to grant him any other point in this battle. But maybe it was time to do something that was long overdue anyway and turn this into a victory for herself. She ended up turning around and opening her purse.

"You're right. And before I forget, here are the papers you can pull an all-nighter with now." She took a few loose slips of paper and threw them on the ground between the two of them. Only slowly they glided down to the floor, building some kind of wall between the two of them that might have been there for longer than thought.

"After all I don't see my name on the wall here anywhere, so it remains a mystery to me why I keep sitting in my office until midnight, trying to find out how the hell I'm going to pay all the salaries at the end of the month. And why I would have sleepless nights because of this. Stupidity, Cal. Stupidity, that's what it is probably."

His brain couldn't decide whether he should look at her or inspect the papers on the floor instead, so he was stupidly lost somewhere in between the two alternatives. It only made her more mad, because in the end it wasn't any reaction at all.

"I'm sick of cleaning up other people's messes and at the same time smiling bravely, because it's what everybody expects from me."

She tried taking a deep breath to not let all the nasty words roll off her tongue, but there simply was no air. No air for her, no air for him, who remained fixed in his place just like a casual bystander, trying to force himself into any reaction.

"You know, the good thing is that you probably won't have to wait until I mess with your finances again. We've probably been through with each other for a long time already, or how did you put it so nicely?" Those were the words after which she could finally turn around again; the words that gave her the necessary strength or maybe just some sort of conviction. Leave it all behind, maybe forever, maybe not.

But those also were the words that finally started his feet moving again, taking him right over the deeply red numbers on the floor, this time faster than she could escape the scene. He overtook her and stopped right in front of her, dangerously close. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her backwards until she felt the cold, hard wall in her back. She was far too angry to be afraid in any way.

"You and I," he growled somewhere between anger and despair, "we will never be through. You know that just as well as I do."

"You said it first and you meant it," she insisted grimly without making the tiniest concession. She would have loved to place a targeted kick right between his legs and free herself from this awful situation with his burning hands on her skin, but maybe she didn't want it just enough.

He breathed heavily for a few times. In and out, in and out. Everything was burning—his breath, his hands, his words, this screwed up friendship they had or whatever it was. There were so many good moments and then there was shit like this.

She wondered what he was going to do and he wondered the same thing. They both got their answer when he captured her lips with his, letting go of her wrists in order to pin her hips against the wall. More gentle, but still with some insistence.

She pushed him back; once, twice. Then she opened her mouth and instead of pushing him further away with her hands on his chest, she started taking some of the fabric of his black sweater into her clenched fists and pulled him towards herself.

She wanted it and at the same time she didn't; and they fought and they clung to each other. Back and forth, anger and despair, affection and desire. And basically, they had no clue what the hell they were doing there.

He put a tentative hand under her shirt and she replied with her own hand seeking for a little heated skin below his sweater. His fingers slowly wandered along her ribcage until they found a resting spot on the small of her back, sending myriads of pleasant impulses through her body. It made her nearly forget everything in an instant.

But she clung to her anger and wouldn't just let it go, not giving him the change to right all the wrongs in just the blink of an eye. All the things he had let crumble for months, maybe years already; there was no way of forgetting. Her fingernails dug into the sensitive skin of his waist until he let out a quiet hiss while at the same time trying to soothe her with the movements of his tongue.

They fought for every tiny bit and piece, and they both knew that just too well. No winner, no loser, just the two of them trying to give some meaning to this mess. A hopeless duel of twists and turns.

His hand on her back gently pushed her away from the wall and eventually he guided her with stumbling steps across the corridor. His kisses never stopping, only silently telling her that he wanted the continuation of this to happen somewhere else.

On their way to his office she took the jacket off his shoulders, forcing him to break the contact of his fingertips with her skin to get rid of it entirely. He used the moment to also help her out of her blazer, which together with his jacket remained on the floor just like a relic of their explosion, while they ended up in his study. Far away from everything and still not detached from it. The smell of smoke lay heavy in the air.

They continued fighting, rid themselves of the last remaining clothes, explored, despaired, melted into each other, and finally found some release in their joint climax. But it remained a fight all along, now and then.

After that they lay so very close together, the sofa actually being too small for the two of them. Breath calm and even again, heartbeat under control, limbs weak and drained. And despite their physical proximity they both felt that there wasn't an awful lot that connected them right now. The gentle pressure of his fingers on her hips drawing small, lazy circles at most.

And the world out there could have come to an end. They both wouldn't have noticed. But maybe, just maybe the end had been here for a long time already. Right here in this room, where he could still remember the feeling of her velvety skin under his tightly gripping fingertips. And where she couldn't forget the sensation of his rough stubble under her angry palms.

And then they both wondered how this could be, when there was actually so much more they felt for each other.


	2. Sight

**ii. Sight**

When he woke up, he wondered how he could have simply fallen asleep. It wasn't a deep sleep at all, more of a slumber accompanied by a thousand fragments of shattering thoughts—the argument, the soft touch of her skin, their first meeting in the darkness of the hallway, her bitter laughter over and over again—but somehow his sleep was deep enough to not notice right away that she had broken away from him and was already on her way out now. Fully dressed, not looking back at him.

He got hold of her arm before she could slip away entirely, anxious to not grip her with too much force. She paused and turned to him.

"You're leaving?" he asked and it was actually more of a plea to stay or to at least leave together with him. He felt unbelievably vulnerable and in the scarce light he could read quite similar emotions on her face.

"Yes," she only said quietly and was apparently looking for her shoes.

"Give me two minutes and I'll come with you," he offered and started locating his own clothes in the darkness of the night. At least his underwear was quickly found.

But she countered his request. "No, I wanna go alone."

He stopped rummaging around in his clothes and everything became even more odd. Maybe it was the air that was so cold that he shivered slightly now that the heat of the moment had receded. But maybe it was the atmosphere between the two of them that made him feel so cold all of a sudden.

"It's the middle of the night," he noted and it was only another attempt to keep her with him somehow, because he couldn't get rid of the alarming feeling that he might have lost her forever, if she went through the door of his office now.

"It's quite often the middle of the night when I leave the office," she replied almost unemotionally and finally found her shoes.

He didn't need a translation in order to know what she was really saying. That he wasn't there, that he didn't give a damn, that he left her on her own with the day-to-day burdens of this business.

"I don't ask you to do that," was all that blatantly left his mouth, even though his thoughts were entirely different ones. Maybe because he was hurt as well now that she had planned to sneak away from him like that. Or maybe because he already missed her warmth, as awfully inept as the circumstances might have been.

"No you don't," she confirmed, "but I'm also the first person you accuse when something here doesn't go the way you want it to. If I don't take care of it nobody will and this company will go down the drain sooner or later."

He sighed, defeated and unable to still develop any clear thoughts. "Message received."

"I doubt it."

He looked up, but all that he saw was a pair of sad, disappointed eyes that she averted shyly as soon as he had fixed her with his gaze. "Then tell me what I should do."

There wasn't any moment of hesitation and it only became more obvious that the words had already been laid out on her tongue for a long time. "Acknowledge and appreciate people's efforts here. Not only mine. Everybody who works here is helping to keep _your_ dream alive."

To some extent his dream was her and this dream was just shattering into all its ugly components right in front of his feet.

"Okay," was all that he could get out.

"Okay," she repeated sneeringly and somehow he was sure that she would leave for good now, but far from it. She had only just started her attack and took a deep breath.

"I gave up just as many things for this company as you did," she began and every word was a cutting sword—on the surface calm and controlled, but underneath a volcano was simmering. "A safe job without worries about the future, the ability to simply see people without detecting all the lies behind the tiniest of blinks and twitches. Time, so much time."

He was reduced to sitting there in front of her like a naughty schoolboy who had only just started to comprehend the consequences of his wrongdoings. It was cold, unbelievably cold. He tried to picture her laughter again, but it was light years away, even though there were only a few hours between now and then.

"Maybe some of my friendships would still exist today, if I had had the time to maintain and take care of them. Maybe I would have realized earlier that something's not right with Alec, had I not taken my work home with me and listened instead. Maybe I could have helped him before it was too late. Maybe I could have grieved for Sophie, had I not spent my nights at the office after she was gone. Maybe it would hurt less today."

He was speechless, felt completely lost and as if hit by a train of which he only saw the tail lights now. And yet somehow his stupid mouth opened, clutching to the last straws that were left.

"I offered you to take some time off when that happened." He couldn't even say what exactly had happened, because he had never found the right words when it came to Sophie. Neither when she was still part of Gillian's life, nor when she became part of another life, away from her.

_Loss._ Maybe he could understand this devastating feeling a bit better now that he was so immensely frightened of losing her.

But she didn't give him that one. "Yes you did. And at the very same time you carelessly got into massive trouble with the mayor's office. And it was me who picked up the pieces again and made sure that we could continue working. You didn't give a damn."

He had always been afraid of those words. Afraid that she would one day openly admit that he was the reason her life was falling apart. It confirmed all his deepest fears about himself. That he was the origin of all evil, that he poisoned everything around him that had been pure and innocent before.

Now he really was at a loss for words. No single syllable he could utter would make it any better.

"I don't care if my name is written on some door here or not, but if you're telling me once more that the Lightman Group was not built on my sweat and tears as well, then I will try to forget that you ever were a part of my life."

It was the end of her speech, that much was clear.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted honestly and tried to at least hold on to her eyes in the darkness, because she couldn't just slip out of his life. Couldn't, shouldn't, mustn't.

"Best if you say nothing at all," she added quietly.

She went back to the door and he got up to stop her from leaving. He felt as naked as he really was, deprived of the last protective mechanisms and without the curtain that she could see behind most of the time anyway. Even when he adamantly tried to hide his feelings from the world.

"Gill, please," were the words he managed to get out, but they didn't mean anything anymore. His hand touched hers, but she shook him off.

"This here was a mistake, Cal," she clarified and for a moment he wondered whether she meant them sleeping together or whether she was even referring to the company and everything they had built together. He decided to go with the first thought, because the latter would have broken his heart even more.

"I had the feeling you wanted this too. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted that," he said and searched for her hand once again, but no chance.

When she turned around, he could see tears on her face for the first time. Tears that were hidden by the darkness until now. It broke his heart again and again, because there was no doubt that he was responsible for every single one of them.

"I only wanted it to be nice if it happened one day," she confessed, her voice thick with choked-back tears. "Not like this."

Everything here had shattered to pieces—her heart, his heart, this company, their friendship and whatever could have been.

"Me too," he agreed and didn't know whether he had ever spoken truer words. "Me too."

When she finally left for good, he had no doubt that it wouldn't be her this time picking up the pieces from this godforsaken battle ground.


	3. Hearing

**iii. Hearing**

She couldn't remember one second of sleep, just thoughts, considerations, worries. All accompanied by the sound of his even breathing right next to her ear. The sound she couldn't forget, as peaceful as the quiet before the storm. Or the quiet after the storm. Or the quiet in the middle of the eye of the tornado. She wished something of that peacefulness would have remained. More than just the simple sound she clung to now.

Minutes went by, hours then. The morning came before her eyes had even closed.

And now she sat here with a cup of cold coffee. The clock above the kitchen table said something about eight and maybe she had about an hour and a half left before people at the Group would start worrying about her, because nobody knew about any appointments or reasons why she wouldn't be behind her desk by nine at the latest. It's how everybody knew her. Responsible and loyal to a fault.

But she couldn't and didn't want to talk to anyone. She couldn't even move. Or breathe.

She decided to call his office and let him know. At this time of the day and after that night there was hardly any danger that he would actually pick up, and letting her words go straight to voicemail would relieve her of the decisions she didn't want to make.

So she dialed his number and was startled when he actually picked up after just a few seconds.

"Lightman." His voice sounded weary and tired, as if he hadn't even left his office. As if the couch in his study had been his den for the night—there where the smell of the two of them still clung to the fabric.

She didn't say anything, because she didn't know what. She wasn't prepared for that.

"Gill?" he eventually asked when the silence threatened to tear apart the line.

"I'm not coming in today," she recited one of the sentences she had prepared in her head before. She had no idea what would come—whether it concerned this call or her life in general.

"Alright," he replied a few seconds later and there was a hint of the panic in his voice that she had seen on his face the night before. She was somehow surprised that he didn't try to hide it any better, but maybe he just couldn't. Maybe she even wanted this panic to exist, because it meant that she was still important to him. There were moment where she had doubted that in the past. Fleeting moment, but moments existent nevertheless.

And those moments of doubt were enough to know that something had to change.

"I'm not sure I'll come in tomorrow," she continued. _And the day after tomorrow. And next week. And if I can ever do this again._

"You take as much time as you want," he granted and she realized that he had no clue what to say either. Cal Lightman, never lost for words, was now forcing out every single one of them. Every damn word.

Up until now she hadn't given too much significance to words when it came to him. She knew him. It were feeling that counted, deeds. Up until yesterday. Up until he had spoken those sentences that he had really meant.

"I'm not sure I can go on like this."

"With me?"

"With everything."

"This isn't only about last night?" he asked, but maybe it was more of a conclusion. A conclusion that he had reached in the last few hours and that hurt him too as she could hear.

"I have to take care of myself. At one point."

"What can I do?" he wanted to know helplessly and hadn't all of this been so incredibly bitter, she would have felt for him.

His pain was her pain as well; the one that tightened her ribcage and got her all choked up, but she started believing in her sentence and repeated it word for word in her head. _I have to take care of myself._

"Gillian, what can I do?" he asked again and they probably both knew right in this moment that there were no answers left. His voice clung desperately to her silence and she understood. And yet she also didn't understand at the same time.

She understood that he really didn't want to lose her. That those sentences yesterday might have been quicker than his heart, when the words left his lips without consideration. But she didn't understand why he pushed her away like that again and again, just to pull her back to him afterwards and never let go. Up until the next moment when he forgot about all of that.

"I don't know," she just whispered and shook her head, because everything seemed so lost and pointless. It might have been a tear that left this tingling sensation on her cheek, but she didn't dare investigating it with her fingers and gaining assurance.

She could hear him giving up and it broke her heart, as if it had still been intact until now. "Okay, okay," he mumbled and she could only think again and again that this wasn't the man she knew. Cal Lightman didn't give up, didn't relent, didn't let go. She almost wanted to bring him to his senses, but maybe it was only good that he finally felt her pain as well. Her usually soothing words failed to be spoken.

For some seconds neither of them said anything, while she thought about how to end this conversation without tearing her heart apart for good. Her choice was a work topic; in fact harmless, but probably loaded with so much more after last night's words.

"Can you take care of the IMF case?"

"Gill," he tried again and she realized that her words hadn't even reached him. Far away his thoughts were searching for a solution, but actually he knew just as well as she did that there wasn't any. No simple and certainly no obvious one.

"I can call Loker and ask him to—," she continued, but he cut her off before she could get lost in indifferent topics entirely.

"Gill," he started anew, "as awful as all of that had been last night, I just want you to know that it meant something to me nevertheless."

Her heart sank even deeper, leaving her with this feeling of crippling emptiness when she didn't even think that was still possible. That the broken urgency in his voice would hit her open wounds right where it hurt the most.

She breathed. And breathed. "You told that Wallowski after your date as well?"

He breathed; disheartened. "I didn't sleep with her."

"But you would have. If only to rub it in afterwards." She thought back to all the moments he had done just that, his reasons not always obvious. She thought of long legs and temptation, of his fingers only tracing her shivering skin a few hours ago. Of fights and disappointments, of harsh words and silent forgiveness.

Often they were blonde, sometimes brunette, but never like her. They were everything she was not in fact. Dangerous and full of risk, puzzling and mysterious, daring and carefree.

They were everything that he was looking for and they brought out everything in him that she liked the least.

The tear she had already feared, now finally fell down to the table, followed by a choked sob. She put her hand over the receiver, but it was already too late. He heard.

"You mean so much more to me than that," he threw in with a soft-spoken voice and even if he had avoided her last statement that way, it was so much more honest than everything else he could have said.

But she just couldn't do this anymore and hung up. What remained in her ears was his desperate voice, his warm breath and in between the soundscape of happier days.


	4. Taste

**iv. Taste**

He could remember so many days that felt like hell—the devastating emptiness after the death of his mum, Northern Ireland, Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, guns pointed at him, fears of death, drunken stupor after his divorce, and endless worries about Emily—but this day defined agony for him anew.

His hand clenched the telephone for a long time after she had hung up. He knew there wasn't any point in calling her back and getting lost in hasty excuses. And so his mind wandered off while he sat motionless behind his desk until the cases were brought to him and he rejected them with harsh words.

The taste of loss lingered on his tongue and was more bitter than ever before.

It went like this until evening came—him unable to move, thinking thoughts without an outcome, and his eyes fixated on the framed picture in front of him. Her and him, laughing effortlessly, their first day in this very office. It seemed far, far away.

Only when the sun set on the horizon and the darkness veiled the city in the depressing darkness he felt inside of him as well, he was ready to go. And his destination was more than clear.

He had contemplated beforehand what should be done if she wouldn't open the door, but his thoughts were interrupted when she stood in front of him after the second knock, only a doorstep between them. And even this protective barrier crumpled fast after she let him in wordlessly.

"You want a drink?" she asked and made her way to the kitchen without turning around and without looking back.

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it and a hoarse affirmation left his dry throat. While she went into the kitchen he remained in her living room and took a lost look around. His eyes stopped at her bookshelf. Not because of the sappy romance novels he would probably find there as well, but because something else attracted his attention: photos.

There she was, proud and full of gleaming anticipation, with her mother on the day of her graduation. He wondered whether it was her dad behind the camera or whether the vaguely red-rimmed eyes of hers told the story of so many missed milestones.

Then there was her with a couple of friends from school; the picture only a few years old, but ways now mostly separated by hundreds and thousands of miles.

She on the happiest day of her life, as she never got tired of telling. He remembered the glow in her eyes whenever she talked about it. The same glow he noticed in the picture. By now she didn't tell this story anymore and by now it was only her in her breathtaking wedding gown that smiled at him from the picture. He wondered what had happened to the picture of her and Alec that he had sometimes examined on their mantelpiece in the past.

Right in the middle was a frame that was facing down. He didn't need to pick it up in order to know what it showed. He knew the frame well enough and was painfully aware of the fact that she couldn't always bear her probably biggest loss.

And lastly, a picture of the two of them. He knew it, he knew it had been there for some time and yet it somehow took him by surprise. It was so similar to the picture he had spent his day studying—them laughing happily, his arm around her shoulders—and yet it was so vastly different.

It didn't have anything to do with their work. Instead it was taken by Emily on some trip that he couldn't really remember that clearly. This fact made the realization he had at the same moment even more overwhelming.

Of all the people pictured or not pictured here, he was the only one left that she relied on.

Only after a few seconds of his heart stumbling he noticed that she already stood behind him, a glass of water in her hand.

"I'm sorry," he muttered agitated and looked at her fingers that held the glass so tightly as if she never wanted to let go.

She shook her head. "You can look at them," she replied and pointed to the pictures.

But that wasn't what he had apologized for and so he shook his head as well. "No, I mean, I'm sorry—about everything."

He couldn't explain what was going on inside of him, what the parade of ever so innocent photos had triggered in him, and he saw that she didn't understand. Bewildered and sad and confronted with too many feelings she stood in front of him. The glass gave the impression of a new protective barrier between them.

"I'm sorry that I often treat you like you're not important to me." _I'm sorry that I often treat you like crap, _was what he really wanted to say, but the words didn't leave his cowardly lips.

She remained almost motionless in front of him and only stared back, seemingly at a loss. "I don't understand you."

Her facial features spelled it out for him painfully and he let his eyes roam through the house when it started to hurt too much. _Coward, coward, coward_, it echoed through his head.

"I don't understand how one second you can be this, and something entirely different in the next. How I can be this for you now, and something entirely different then. I don't understand it," she declared broken-hearted and held onto the glass as if her life depended on it.

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took them out again immediately, because it didn't seem like the right sign he wanted to send. He was aware of the fact that she tried to read him and maybe it was this pressuring feeling that led him to see nothing else but endless sadness on her face in return.

"One moment I'm your equal business partner and in the next I'm just an ordinary employee that you think you can push around. I'm the one who is supposed to take care of the annoying little things that come with the business, because it's too boring, too inadequate for your, or whatever it is. But when that means that I have to take responsibility for our finances and take measures, then it's not right either."

The naughty schoolboy incapable of anything was back now. Sheepishly he tried to hold her gaze, but it even got harder now that her sad eyes were paired with those honest words that hit him painfully.

"Accomplice or mother superior, friend of foe? You say I smother you with my caring, but every now and then when you turn up on my doorstep like the world has crushed down on you, you give me the feeling that you're glad that I do care."

She took a deep breath and shortly closed her eyes before she went on. "And always when I start believing that maybe there could be more between us, then you put everything we have at stake again. You entangle yourself in reckless situations without any consideration, or you rub my nose in your liaisons that you know I don't approve of. You run away, you push me aside, you do everything you need to make me believe that the two of us together just don't make any sense."

She sighed quietly and looked at him. "What am I supposed to think, Cal?"

"That I'm a bloody idiot," he offered defenselessly. He wished nothing more than being able to see whether this really was the end or if something like an honest restart was possible, but his skills abandoned him. It had never been easy for him to read her and not get lost in his own feelings at the same time, but it had never been this impossible.

"I made a decision," she proclaimed as if she hadn't even heard him. As if she hadn't even seen the probably all too obvious panic on his face.

Her knuckles turned white. The glass would burst at one point, he was sure. And then join all the broken pieces they already waded through anyway.

Her words replayed in his head again and only then he seemed to realize what she had really said. He walked up to her until there indeed was just the glass of water between them. "I have conflicting feelings for you", he tried with the truth. "My heart screams that I want you, but my head steps in claiming that this will go wrong, that you deserve someone better than me."

He took a deep breath, but the oxygen needed didn't enter his body. The room was void of air and without any hope. "When I push you away, it's only because it hurts too much to have you right by my side and know that there can never be more."

She took another deep breath as well, shaky and yet as if she knew what would come next. She had arranged the words carefully. "I want to leave the company."

Finally she pressed the glass into his hand and pulled away before he had even comprehended her words. Again, it was as if she hadn't even heard him, but at the same time he also understood that she was doing exactly what he usually did. She tried to protect her feelings by pushing him away and running. Literally.

He followed her to the kitchen, passing the pictures from which he soon would maybe vanish as well. "You can't do that," he said and it sounded much more accusing than he had meant it. In reality he was simply desperate and saw his life falling apart. "It's only been a day. Please think about it again."

"I did," she replied quietly and occupied herself with things that couldn't have been of less importance right now. "I think it's best for you to leave now."

He saw how she wiped away a covert tear and how she waited for him to do as told.

"Please," she pleaded a little later when he still hadn't moved. "Don't make it even harder than it already is."

His eyes took in the glass in his hand, the tiny, sputtering bubbles that made their way up to the surface so determined, only to burst there like a sweet dream. He finally put the glass down and thought that he would need something much stronger than water to ever disguise the taste of loss again.

On his way out he wondered whether he would reach the next bar before breaking down, angry at himself and the world. What would come after that, he didn't know anyway.


	5. Smell

**v. Smell**

When she spotted him at the otherwise deserted bar shortly after ten, she wondered how he knew she would be here. And whether he had really kept out of her new life as much as she had thought until now. Nothing was for sure with him; not now, not ever.

She excused herself from her colleagues and went up to him. He had seen her, she was sure of that, but right now nothing suggested that he was aware of her presence. Nonchalantly and not quite dressed appropriately for this kind of posh restaurant he sat on a bar stool and stared at the glass in front of him.

For a moment she stopped behind him and inhaled the familiar scent of their shared past; his aftershave, the warm tingle on her skin, whenever she saw him. Then she sat down next to him, trying to push aside all the memories that welled up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked gently and searched for his eyes from her sideways angle.

He raised his head a little, turned to her and studied her with admiring eyes for longer that she would have liked. "Having a drink," he answered finally and let his eyes roam over her black dress. "And waiting for you."

"How did you know I would be here tonight?" she wanted to know in return and caught herself looking for clues on his face.

His lower lip moved forward just a little, as if it wasn't important, but immediately all his little quirks and mannerisms flooded her mind again. How he always shoved his hands in his pockets, wrinkled his nose when he was confused, how he completely owned the floors of the Lightman Group with his compact appearance and swagger.

"They have their Christmas party here every year," he replied shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip of his lager.

"And you just happen to know that." She observed the small wrinkles around his eyes and wasn't sure whether they had really gotten deeper or whether he simply looked tired. A moment later they became even more prominent when a slight smile began playing about his lips.

"A little research revealed the right location. You wouldn't believe what kind of mortifying pictures of Christmas parties people put up on the internet. Some well-placed twenty dollar notes made sure that I won't have to sit here through all of December. Would have been quite an expensive bill."

"You do still know where I live, don't you?"

"That would have been too easy, don't you think?"

A small smile tugged on her lips as well. "Maybe."

The conspiratorial smile drifted back and forth between the two of them and revealed a kind of intimacy that she had thought lost. But she should have known that her heart was still just as attached to him as her thoughts were in every spare minute.

He was the reason why she still tried to keep herself busy all the time, not allowing herself to stop, when all she actually wanted was to find peace and quiet. She was afraid of the moments of silence, because they were filled with him and opened up old wounds.

The smile slowly disappeared from their faces. "How are you?" she asked after some time when he went back to focusing on his glass.

"Emily's in Berkeley," he avoided her question and yet managed to tell her unmistakably that he had been better. "The house is awfully quiet without her."

She nodded gently. He dreaded the silence as well. "I can imagine, but that's a great chance for her. You can be proud."

"I am," he responded and there was no doubt.

She waited a moment before she went on to the next topic. "How's the Group doing?"

He waited a moment as well before he gave his answer. His eyes stared straight ahead to where the barkeeper rinsed a few last glasses. "Torres quit last week."

She drew her eyebrows together. "Why?"

"Enough of me and my moods," he returned with a shrug and had to grin a bit at the same time.

"She'll come back."

His head turned to her again and he gazed at her for a few seconds; let his eyes wander unabashed from the small scar next to her eyebrow down to the narrow line of her lips. "Why do you say that with such certainty?"

"Because she loves working with you. Gives her the same kick. She'll come to her senses and be back."

His eyes continued boring into her. "You didn't come back," he noticed without any accusation but a lot of melancholy in his voice.

She had to look away from him for a moment when it began to hurt too much. "Because I had to take care of a few things in my life. Things I hadn't taken care of for too long."

He nodded and kept silent, studying the almost empty glass in front of him again. She thought he might ask how she was, but he didn't and he had probably seen the answer on her face anyway.

Only after long seconds that felt like an eternity to her, he spoke again. "That's what I always loved most about you," he mused and a warm smile spread on his face again.

She didn't know what he was talking about. "What?"

"You always believe in the good in people. That Torres will think again and find back to her passion, that I will come round again and stop behaving like an idiot." His eyes searched for hers again, this time with borderline intensity. "You always saw the good in me."

She wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to say, but she understood enough to have her thoughts start spinning. "It's not always the best of traits. You believe in the good just to realize that the world doesn't honor it and that you'll get screwed by it. In the end it's just mostly naïve."

"It's a great trait," he assured her again and some admiration resonated in his voice.

She wasn't sure whether they were talking about the two of them, but they probably did. Somehow.

"I don't know whether Darwin would have agreed," she said with a timid smile. "Survival of the fittest and all that."

"Look where Darwin's theory left him: Just as dead as everybody else, even though he had thought to have outsmarted life and revealed its little secret."

Her smile spread and she saw how his eyes illuminated. For a moment they left it at that, but his unexpected appearance her at the restaurant kept bothering her.

"Why are you really here? Not for small talk, are you?"

He shook his head and confirmed her guess. "Wanted to give you something." His hand reached for an item on the bar stool next to him and a little later she realized what it was. He handed her the book and she ran her fingers over the cover immediately.

"You finally wrote it?"

"Dutifully. However, it was still too late. I will spend the rest of my life paying back publisher advances. And they hate it."

She had heard him, quickly understood that he was really just joking, but her thoughts were already circling fast around what might be written inside the book. She read the title again and again until the words didn't make any sense anymore. _Life lies._

"It's the first copy," he explained and she looked at him with surprise. "I wanted you to have it."

"Thank you," she said quietly and tried to organize her thoughts, but everything did either make no sense at all or all too much. Her fingers continued tracing the cover, wandering over truths that could lie beneath. They scared her, but she was also looking for the relief they might offer.

While she contemplated and felt torn between the worlds of her old and her new life, he already got up. "I'll leave you alone with your colleagues again." He glanced at the small groups of people at the other end of the restaurant. "Was really nice seeing you."

She nodded and found it difficult to keep up with the pace of reality. Everything around her seemed to have stopped, but actually it all went on as usual.

"Nice seeing you too," she replied and wasn't sure how to react. He was so familiar and now he still seemed like a stranger.

He took the decision out of her hands by giving her a well-intentioned smile and leaving the restaurant scuffing his feet. She followed him with her eyes, but the connection with him in the form of the book in her hands remained.

When he was gone for good she slowly opened it, skimmed through the first empty page, was thrown off course again by the title on the next, and eventually got stuck on the dedication—her heart throbbing loudly, her breath taken away.

_For my ever so loyal partner in crime. It hurts so much without you._

A tear formed in the corner of her eye and threatened to escape. But before this could happen she closed the book again, briefly bid farewell to her colleagues and climbed into a cab, where she held onto the book as if it were her life. Only when she closed the door of her house behind herself, the tear finally fell—hot and salty.

She let her coat remain somewhere in the hall, hastily took off her shoes and sat down on the couch, where the book was still in her shaking hands. It took some courage to open it again, go past the title, the dedication, a picture of him all dressed up, right to the first chapter. But she knew that she would find no sleep before she had read it all.

And so it happened. She didn't sleep until the last word was read; didn't even notice the hours that went by on the clock next to her.

She had read all of his books, had given useful input for the last two of them, but this was something completely different. It was personal, only somewhat scientific, warm and honest, not cool and distant. It wasn't a textbook, it was more of a memoir.

He described some of the cases they had been working on together in the past years. But instead of losing himself in details about micro expressions and deception he depicted how those cases had touched him personally, how they had changed him.

He told of mistakes he had made. Mistakes that were also caused by his ability to see more than other people and yet sometimes see nothing at all. He wrote about the people he was closest to and how he could decipher them the least; how he tended to hurt them, because he knew the lies and abysses of this world and wasn't able to protect them from those.

It was sincere and brutally honest.

And even though he didn't mention her name on any of the pages—maybe out of consideration, maybe out of respect—she sensed that the thoughts about her resonated on every single page.

It was something like a weird declaration of love and apology pressed between two book cases.

Shortly after four in the morning she finished the book and closed her eyes. The fatigue burned behind her eyelids, but she was still too restless, too agitated to simply go to sleep. There was only one destination and maybe for the first time in her life she didn't think twice.

When she rang his doorbell a little later and for agonizing seconds nothing happened, she regretted not having thought again. The sun was still far away from rising and it was crazy to get him out of bed at this time of the night. She didn't even know whether he was alone and if she had interpreted his words correctly.

But when she was already hoping and believing that he hadn't heard her, the lights went on inside and he finally opened the door; sleepy and heavily blinking against the bright light.

He examined her for a moment before he said anything. "You look awful," were the words he chose and some amusement in his voice was mixed with genuine concern.

"I didn't sleep," she said and only just realized how mad all of that must look to him. "I read the book."

He nodded and opened the door a little further. "Come in."

She followed him and studied his naked feet on the dark floorboards that abruptly stopped at one point. There wasn't much time for her to realize that and so she nearly bumped into him when he turned around and seemed to search for words.

"I had a lot of time to think. About you, about me, about us." His hand gestured between the two of them and she noticed how little space there was all of a sudden, and how much she missed being close to him.

"I think it was the right decision to leave," he continued. "I had to take care of some things as well. Had to realize my mistakes."

She nodded silently and tried to find comfort in his eyes.

"I don't want to ask you to come back to the company, but I wish you would come back into my life." The look on his face that accompanied this sentence was heartbreaking.

From there on every rational thought was eliminated. She closed the distance to him and let herself fall until his arms caught her. He enclosed her, held her tight and buried his face in her hair.

"I miss you so much," he whispered and every word was absorbed through her hair, so they only reached her vaguely. But she already knew what he wanted to say, because everything about him made it so obvious.

"I missed you too," she returned and a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

He whispered something again that she couldn't quite get and heard his breathing so close to her ear; reminding her of the fateful night a few months ago. It was impossible to simply forget.

They remained in this intertwined position for a while until she slowly broke away from him. With a shy laugh she wiped away most of the tears and remembered his greeting words. "Now I look even more awful."

He had to laugh as well and helped her dry the last tear. "I find you awfully breathtaking."

**THE END**

* * *

_A/N: Thanks so very much to every single one of you taking this heart-wrenching ride with me and for all the awesome, encouraging reviews! Sorry this is the end already, but if you liked this one, please stay tuned for another little surprise chapter coming up._


	6. Deleted Scenes

**Deleted Scenes**

i.

It felt like so much more than just the end in this company. She gathered the last of her personal belongings in a cardboard box and looked around the devastatingly empty office.

The whole day he had been watching her from afar and she couldn't quite imagine yet how she would press her keys in his hand and walk out the door for good.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice Torres at first.

"Sure you're doing the right thing?" she asked gently.

"I don't know, Ria," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders, looking for the last forgotten memories.

ii.

Her eyes seemed to bore into him until his already strained, worn-out nerves finally tore and he lost it. "Torres, what?" he snapped at her and with furious eyes.

"Why don't you fight for her?"

He took the papers from her and hurled them down on his desk where they remained disregarded. "I don't remember asking you for your opinion."

"Oh, well I can't remember giving it to you, you know," Torres countered with a snappy tone in her voice and she wasn't afraid to come even closer. "Otherwise I would have surely used the word _idiot_ in some way."dk the ou fight for her?"he lost of her shoulders, looking for the last he would press her keys in his hand and wal

iii.

"Emily," she said surprised when she opened the door late at night and expected an emergency of any kind.

"I have to talk to you," the girl explained somewhat breathless and pulled the cardigan a little tighter around her body in the cold air out here.

"Does your dad know you're here?" Her heart already hurt saying this simple word. _Dad._

"He's not telling me what happened," Emily avoided her question and Gillian's heart broke for good when she recognized the pleading tone that was hidden behind her words.

"I'm so sorry, Emily."

"Please tell me there's a solution. Please."

iv.

"What's going on between Gillian and you?" she wanted to know and her accusing, sharp-edged tone was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He turned around and walked away until he hoped to have gotten rid of her. But she haunted him just like the painful memories did.

"You owe me an answer," Zoe yelled, her voice still piercing.

"Me running away didn't say _'I don't wanna fucking talk about it'_ clearly enough?"

She looked him in the eye before he slammed the door of his office in her face. "Do you really have to screw up everything, Cal?"

v.

For some weeks she had managed to simply ignore the picture of them on her bookshelf. But one day she summoned up all her courage.

Somehow it was easy exchanging the wedding picture of Alec and her with another one, but with him she didn't have the heart to do it.

For now she turned it around, like she sometimes did with the picture of Sophie when it hurt too much to be reminded. But just as the child growing up somewhere far away from her now, he would always remain a part of her. One she wanted to remember.

vi.

Emily came down the stairs, wrapped her arms around him from behind and he instantly felt bad again. He hadn't really been there for her the last few weeks—was occupied with himself and the never-ending thoughts swirling in his head.

"You're writing the book?" she asked and stared at the screen of his computer.

"Not the book the publisher wants me to write," he said smiling. "They'll throw it back at me for sure."

"You should write what you want to write."

He nodded and thought about how he would have really preferred to write a happy ending instead.

vii.

Somehow she had hoped just until the end that he might call; even when she wasn't even sure if she would have answered it. The wounds were still fresh and his voice might only make it worse.

Now it was shortly after midnight and she went over to the table with all the flowers she had gotten. There they were, nicely arranged in her best vases.

Right in the middle her favorite flowers—white hibiscus—and for a moment she wondered who could have been so attentive and thoughtful.

It was the only bouquet without any card, without any name.

viii.

He always made sure that he was the only one left in the building before he cautiously entered her office in the half-light. The door has been locked since she was gone; inside everything was right where she had left it.

He sat down behind her desk and imagined that the air he breathed here still smelled of her somehow. But in reality it didn't. Nothing here between empty shelves and useless commodities still reminded him of her. It was a dead space, nothing more.

Only the pictures in his head did. The pictures he held onto now so desperately.

ix.

It was already the third time a colleague had asked her out for dinner. And the third time she had declined.

"Am I getting on your nerves with that?" he asked and for the first time she realized that his smile could be breathtaking. It was briefly there and then again pushed aside by worry and self-doubts.

"No," she replied and shook her head while she gathered the things from her desk. "I'm just not _looking_ right now."

"I see. There's somebody else?"

She smiled sadly and hoped that it wasn't too obvious. "Not really."

"Broken heart?"

"Something like that."

x.

It was her last evening in this house before she would board the plane to California. It felt like the last day where she was still his little girl.

He sat on the edge of her bed and thought about the future without her. Without the two of them.

"Why aren't you telling me what happened between you?"

"That's not a good bedtime story, love."

"Maybe it helps talking about it."

He shook his head. "Already too many words pointlessly lost about this."

"I don't want you to be alone," she said with big, sad eyes.

"I'll be alright, darling."


End file.
